Overwhelmed
by Gedia Kacela
Summary: “Why do the things I have done haunt me so? Why can I still see each face as Voldemort rips the life from them? Why, in my deepest heart, do I still feel guilty? Why am I so damn overwhelmed?” Takes place during Snape's years as a Death Eater.


Overwhelmed  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, no matter how much I want to keep evil Snape... *sigh*  
  
Author's Note: Yes, I am a Snape fan. Evil or broodingly semi-good, it doesn't matter to me. This is my first venture into the wonderful world of HP fanfic, and perhaps it will not be my last... *evil laugh*  
  
***  
  
Severus Snape groaned aloud, collapsing beside the young Muggle woman. For a moment, he looked at her, his dark hair falling across his glittering black eyes. While not ugly, she was no great beauty either. But she had served his purposes.  
  
He tried to roll away from her on the small bed, not wanting to touch her sweaty skin. How long until she would leave him in peace? Surely she wouldn't stay all night? She was no lover, just another woman he used to occupy his nights while he served his master.  
  
She turned, glancing at him as he reached up to brush back his long hair. Her eyes fell on It, and she reached out to touch a hand to the small of his bare back. "What's that?" she asked, her blue eyes curious.  
  
He barely acknowledged her, attempting to draw further away from her prying eyes. "None of your damn business," he growled.  
  
There was a threatening edge to his low voice, but the girl didn't seem to notice. "It's weird... is it a tattoo?"  
  
Angrily, he sat up and glared down at her, a dangerous sparkle in his cold, hard eyes. "No, you fool. This is no mere tattoo. It is a brand." He gestured at the offending mark. "I have been branded like an animal with this Mark until the day I am so blessed as to die." He rolled from the bed, reaching for his discarded cloak and pulling it on as he began to pace around the cramped quarters. The black material enveloped his tall, thin frame like a cloud of darkness, making him seem even more sinister than his pale, drawn face already did.  
  
Hardly thinking about what he said, he began to speak. "I am one of a group called the Death Eaters. A foolish Muggle like yourself would hardly understand the name. Let me explain. I am... we are... wizards who serve Lord Voldemort in his rise to power. Anyone who would even attempt to stand against him would be a complete fool. No one can stop him. That is one reason I joined... the power. All my life I was ridiculed, excluded. But now," here a wicked, twisted laugh escaped from between his thin lips, "now they will pay."  
  
The woman on the bed had sat up, wrapping the bedclothes around her nakedness. She stared at him in silence, watching his monologue. He spit the words from his mouth in spiteful vengeance. "No one can stand before Him... before me. They will be wiped from the very face of this earth, and they shall know our true power."  
  
Strings of dark hair crisscrossed his forehead, clinging damply to his skin. He wrung his hands together. "But sometimes, oh sometimes... I feel so damn overwhelmed. It feels like I'm sinking into a great ocean and the waves keep pounded down on me, forcing me deeper and deeper... overwhelmed."  
  
Ceasing his long strides across the room, he sunk back against the wall, his eyes fixed on some point on the wall, or perhaps looking past it. She couldn't tell. "I used to have a conscience, you know... back at Hogwarts. I used to fear that I would pay for my wrongs, that there would be repercussions for my actions." He attempted a wan smile but failed miserably. "But there is no justice in this world, I've learned that by now. We shall never be punished for the things we have done, for the atrocities that we have committed in the shadows. That in itself is a thing to ponder for days on end."  
  
"Imagine, the fact that we all end up the same at the end. Death cares not for good or evil, it is blind to our doings in life. None of it matters in the end. A do-gooder like Albus Dumbledore will end up the same as a sinner like myself." He paused to run his hand through his hair once again. Nervous habits die hard.   
  
"This is why I do not waste my time with good. It will never pay off, after all. But with the power I have gained, I can do great and terrible things before my death, things that will give me more satisfaction than anything I would have done had I not become a Death Eater."  
  
Turning, he slammed his fist against the wall before sinking to the floor. His robe pooled around him like a black puddle. "Then why do I feel like this? Overwhelmed... the darkness threatens to overwhelm me each day. The death, the pain..." His breathing became labored as he closed his eyes against the memories that swam before them. Hell if he was getting soft. His already-soft voice became almost inaudible as he continued to speak. "Why do the things I have done haunt me so? Why can I still see each face as Voldemort rips the life from them? Why, in my deepest heart, do I still feel guilty? Why am I so damn overwhelmed?"  
  
There was a touch on his shoulder and her jerked away from it, looking up to see the young prostitute standing above him. Her hair cascaded down over her pale shoulders. "Come to bed," she whispered, and he obeyed. He needed to lose himself again in the process of lovemaking, to put aside his demons for the time being.  
  
As she lay afterwards, in the calm of sleep, he removed his wand from his robes and stood at the door. Raising the wand, he murmured the spell. "Avada Kedavra." A bolt of energy leapt from the tip and struck the sleeping girl. She cried out softly, almost as if having a bad dream, and gasped for breath that wouldn't come, then lay still. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she had simply returned to sleep. But in this sleep, she would never be able to speak of the things he had told her.  
  
Drawing his hood up, he slipped through the streets like a shadow and left the Muggle world at last, retreating to his own miserable quarters. There, he let sleep overwhelm him at last. It washed over him like the boiling waves of darkness that he had already been drowned in long ago.  
  
END. 


End file.
